Petraeus' Shakespearian storyline - Fond fools serve mad jealousy

November 16, 2012|Chris Jones | Theater critic

In William Shakespeare's "Othello," an important general finds himself the victim of a little scheme, concocted by a disgruntled subordinate, to bring him down by making him jealous. It's a tawdry, less-than-credible bit of business involving a handkerchief, and every time you see this play you think, really, that was enough to convince this smart man of the infidelity of his seemingly lovely and ever-supportive wife? That was enough for him to risk his entire military career on a whim of pique?

Savvy old Shakespeare anticipated this problem, of course. And so he put his audience's incredulity in the mouth of Lodovico, a man who has long known the now-fallen general and who is similarly amazed both at Othello's transformation and his sudden willingness to throw everything away:

"Is this the noble Moor whom our full Senate call all in all sufficient?" he wonders aloud. "Is this the nature whom passion could not shake? Whose solid virtue the shot of accident nor dart of chance could neither graze or pierce?"

Lodovico has known Othello, but not, he now realizes, Othello in the grips of intimate passion. In that realm, he's different.

Some version of Lodovico's amazement was dancing on a lot of American lips last week as the affair, or affairs, involving Gen. David Petraeus took ever-more Shakespearean turns (if that does not besmirch the Bard). It first ensnared one of America's most distinguished military and civilian leaders and his biographer, Paula Broadwell, and then a second woman, Jill Kelley, apparently Broadwell's perceived rival for the general's extramarital affections. Then a second very distinguished general, John Allen, who happens to command some 67,000 U.S. troops in Afghanistan, was drawn in, which certainly qualifies Petraeus as a leader with Aristotelian magnitude.

By the time Kelley's twin sister, Natalie Khawam, entered the narrative as a minor character midweek, many people were throwing up their hands at what had become less Shakespearean tragedy and more a farcical "Comedy of Errors," a play that not only reflected Shakespeare's love of mixing it up with a twin but contains another good question for the moment: "How many fond fools serve mad jealousy?"

In this Petraeus business, apparently a good number.

Americans learned a few things last week and, in all probability, should, like Lodovico, not have even been remotely surprised at the rest.

Some of us certainly learned over the last few days that our good old celebrity-worshipping culture extends much further than we ever realized, even down to prosaic Tampa, Fla., where retirees and cruise ships roam but Kardashians rarely step. There, the local strivers and climbers apparently must invent their own rock stars in the form of military generals, who reportedly are accustomed to being ministered to and partied with in such a way that it invites comparison with what the Rolling Stones might reasonably expect to be waiting in the dressing rooms on their latest cash-generating tour, if only they still had the youthful energy left to partake.

We should not, of course, have been surprised at the latest chapter of the ongoing revelation that very powerful military men are willing to risk everything for newer love, better sex, warmer flattery, who knows what? Love and jealousy upend the mighty with equal force as they upend the humble. It was ever thus.

Anthony was ready to torpedo Rome for the ministrations of the buff but very unreliable Queen of the Nile. Jason grew tired of his Medea without thinking too much about what might happen when she flew into a wholly predictable jealous rage. Our greatest writers have always exploited our inability to fully protect our broader ambitions and achievements from our intimate needs of the moment, perhaps because satisfying those intimate needs is a way to cling on to our youth. There have been endless fictional permutations of this story, just as the progression of similar reputation-killing scandals from the Oval Office on down reveals there are endless permutations in real life.

There's no question that the world of espionage, global military operations and affaires de coeur are inextricably linked in our minds. Why else did hoards of Americans rush to see "Skyfall," the latest movie in the 50-year-old James Bond franchise that grossed close to $90 million in its opening U.S. weekend, piggybacking on more than $400 million already earned worldwide? What CIA recruit still does not have a martini, shaken by a beautiful bartender, somewhere in his picture of his potential new life?